Helpless
by gypsy season
Summary: She is there to make sure that he eats, that he sleeps, to give him someone to talk to. But she knows she cannot help him. Stein, Marie


It doesn't take very long for Marie to realize that she isn't going to be able to help Stein. Not in the way she expected when she had been asked to look after him, when she had been told the details of his affliction. She had been determined to pull him out of his madness, to be the one who broke through the darkness and dragged him back to sanity.

But after even her first day with him, she knows that will not be the case, and realizes that her purpose is not to save him from his madness, but to protect him for as long as she can before inevitability.

She is there to make sure that Stein eats. As his madness progresses, he could spend the entire day sitting on the floor, drawing patterns on the tile with his fingers. She calls him for dinner, invites him to come and eat with her. Sometimes he'll actually decline her verbally, but more often than not lately, he will just sit there, just keep running his fingers across the floor, as if he didn't - couldn't - hear her.

So Marie brings two plates with her and sits down beside him on the floor. She puts one of the plates in his lap, the other in hers, and grabs onto his left hand in hers so that it will be still. Stein looks at her and seems so close to saying something, "let go of my hand" or "thanks" (for many things) or "what the hell are you doing", before turning his attention to his food. They eat in silence, Stein with his right hand and Marie, awkwardly, with her left, since their hands are still clasped between them. Marie can feel the energy, burning into her palm, and she holds on tight for fear of what will happen if she lets go.

She is there to make sure that he sleeps, or that he at least lies down to let his body rest. Some days, he paces the apartment like a caged animal, pulling at his hair. Marie steps in front of him and places her hands on his shoulders, having to physically stop him. He trembles beneath her fingers, and Marie can almost pretend that maybe he's just shivering from some cold that she doesn't feel.

"Come to bed," she coaxes.

He starts at this, and with a skeptical arch of his eyebrow, he is himself again. His lips curve into what can almost be a smile, but really more like a smirk. "Are you trying to take advantage of me?" he says, sounding incredibly amused at the notion.

"Stop it," Marie admonishes, though she smiles too, happy to see a break in the storm clouds. "You need to sleep, that's all."

"Whatever you say," Stein teases, and allows her to lead him onto the bedroom, where he shamelessly strips off his coat and shirt and stretches out on his stomach on the bed. Once he's settled, Marie sits down next to him and reaches over to massage his shoulders.

"Marie," he says.

"Shhh," she whispers, kneading harder at the tension in his muscles, trying to work the strain out of him. Although his body remains coiled like a spring, his eyes eventually close. Marie takes this as a victory.

She treats these moments like glass, like ice. Whatever is left of Stein's sanity is fragile and so prone to shattering, and so persistently melting away. It feels like no time at all before he suddenly jerks away from her touch and sits up, looking bewildered. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, gives the screw in his head a few turns, and stalks off to the bathroom.

She is there for times when the glass shatters, when he tries to put his fist through a mirror. She knocks at the bathroom door before she tries to open it; it isn't even locked.

"No locked doors," Stein murmurs, staring up at her from the floor, where he is cradling his bleeding hand close to his body. "That wouldn't be very prudent..."

"That's right," Marie says, kneeling down to get a closer look at his hand. It is bleeding, but not badly, and will probably be bruised and sore within the hour. "Come on," she says, helping him to stand. It seems that all he needs is a little urging, just a little reminder to look after himself, and he steps away from her, taking his hand out of hers and holding it under a stream of water.

"I'm fine," he lies. " You don't need to watch me."

She is there to go to the store and buy bandages.

She is there for when times are quiet, when she reads from a book she's found on Stein's shelf and Stein writes in a notebook of his.

"Stop me." There is something tragic about the way he speaks, something desperate. When Marie gets closer, she sees that he isn't actually writing, just drawing, scribbling, the shape of an eye. Over and over, filling up the page. "You have to stop me," he says, his voice strained. "I can't."

So Marie grabs onto his hand, moves it away from the page and tries to hold it, but he pulls out of her grasp and goes back to his manic drawings. "Please," he says.

She takes the notebook next, pulling it right out from under his pen. But this doesn't even slow him down, and he draws on the table. So she goes for his arm again, this time trying to hold it down, trying to hold him down. Before she even registers the feeling of his other arm slamming against her chest, she's been thrown halfway across the room.

Stein giggles. Like a child, or like something else. "I knew you couldn't do it."

Marie hastily retreats to the bathroom to compose herself, while Stein laughs in the next room.

She continues to ask him if he's alright, long after she knows that he isn't alright at all. She asks only for the sake of maintaining the routine, for she knows that a good, solid routine can be a comfort to the insane. And Stein is definitely insane, undoubtably so, and Marie can't help him.

It hurts her, being with Stein and yet unable to do anything but watch, really, watch as he continues to disappear. He is lost, and yet he is so real, so tangible, right in front of her. It's almost enough to drive her insane.

But she has to help him. She knows she can't, but she has to.


End file.
